


Bound

by MargalithS



Category: Trigun
Genre: Fun with languages, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, POV Second Person, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 09:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16513496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MargalithS/pseuds/MargalithS
Summary: Just a little idea about how Legato Bluesummers got his name, based on how many places have gotten their names based on misunderstandings between speakers of different languages.





	Bound

The sensation of sweat and skin against your back falls away, leaving only the breeze.

It is over 100 degrees, but you shiver as your sweat dries along with the now-dead man’s.

It is then that you see _Him_. The one who answered the desperate cries that echoed from deep inside your mind. The avenging angel. The one who saved you.

You are unsure of how to speak to Him. He is so otherworldly and so celestial that you imagine He speaks in tongues, or perhaps not at all. To your surprise, he speaks English, just like most of the outsiders.  He asks you something that you don't understand entirely - this is not your first language. In the best English you can manage, you cobble together a plea for Him to either take you with Him, or kill you right then and there. He presses His blade against your neck, and you prepare to die while taking in all of His magnificent beauty.

Against your expectations, He stops.

The angel is curious about you. He seems to be examining you with His cold eyes. You struggle to cover yourself, afraid of what He is capable of and yet enthralled.

“What’s your name?” The angel asks. No one has asked you this before. Resentment at your mistreatment surges and seethes through your body and you cry out that _you have no name_.

He frowns - not one of pity, but one of casual disdain. He does not seem to understand. Perhaps your pathetic sobbing muffled your words, or your thick accent distorted them. He off-handedly lifts a clump of matted, chalky-smelling hair from your head and mutters something, a soft and ponderous tone in His voice. It sounds like what some of the men used to call you when they would touch your head - the color of your hair, but He tacks something else on to it.

Confused, feverish, and weakened, you wonder if any restraints remain on your body. _"Sono ancora legato...?"_

The question is intended for yourself, but since your head is reeling and pounding, you have unintentionally thought aloud.

The angel makes eye contact and sneers. “Legato? Like music...? Perhaps that's what I will call you. We'll decide later.”

Your words didn't even register to the angel as a question. He thought you were introducing yourself, or suggesting something you would like to be called by. You are too grateful to object. You disregard His mistake. He may not be omniscient, but He is still infallible. Tears stream down your face.

He beckons for you to follow Him. You oblige without hesitation.

Three years pass, and you learn to speak the same language. He stops calling you "Legato." He opts for the made-up word he muttered while examining your hair - "Bluesummers."

You, however, wear your God’s mistake with pride. Yes, you _are_ still tied. Attached, bound, connected, tied - to Him. Forever. Until the day your purpose has been fulfilled.


End file.
